Where the Daylight Begins
by Shade's Ninde
Summary: There's something special about firsts. Koy.
1. encounter

I don't own Young Justice. Dedicated to Rocks. Today is the day, indeed.

* * *

 **WHERE THE DAYLIGHT BEGINS**

* * *

 _April 14_ _th_ _, 2008, 3:16 PM – Star City (Haight-Ashbury neighborhood)_

Roy stands in the foyer of Ollie's townhouse, unplugged headphones nestled over his ears, pretending not to hear the argument Ollie and Dinah are having upstairs.

"It's too soon, Oliver," Dinah's voice is saying, hushed yet impassioned. "He's only just recovered physically, and we have no idea how he's coping otherwise. He needs more time before he's thrown back into the deep end."

"Too much time was the problem in the first place," Ollie is arguing back. "He needs to get back in the field, fire a few arrows, get his mind off what he's been through."

"We don't even _know_ what he's been through," Dinah presses. "Surely you can find a way to distract him without putting him right back in harm's way? It's not like– "

" –this is _Roy_ we're talking about, Dinah. He wouldn't want to be mollycoddled. He's ready. He says he's ready, and I'm prepared to take him at his word."

"He's been back two weeks," Dinah replies, her frustration audible even through the floor and Roy's silent headphones. "Two weeks, after being missing for _three months_ , one of which he doesn't even remember. I know you're eager to put this behind you, but even a League member wouldn't be back on active duty at this point, not without a psych evaluation and an extensive debrief, not to mention – "

Roy doesn't hear the rest, having slipped out the door and out onto Haight Street. He knows how this will go. Ollie will cave to Dinah, in the end – he always does – and if Roy has to spend one more day cooped up with the worried whispers behind his back and the guilty looks that twist into fake smiles every time he walks into a room, he's going to break something. What was the point of busting him out of Luthor's prison just to put him on house arrest? He needs air, but more importantly, he needs to get away from his guardians for a while.

He catches a bus on the corner of Divisadero before they even notice he's gone. Maybe he'll take a run through Star Memorial Park; maybe he'll go peoplewatch around Lloyd Lake. Maybe he'll just walk all the way to the ocean and watch the waves until the sun goes down. Sure, he can't have his bow back yet, but one way or another he's not spending another afternoon fletching arrows they won't let him shoot.

His phone rings as he's getting off the bus, on the edge of the park. Declining the call, he opens a text message instead.

 _out for a walk,_ he types to Dinah. _not kidnapped, promise._

He walks along the edge of the park for a good ten minutes before his phone vibrates again. As he retrieves it from his pocket, he can imagine Dinah at the kitchen window, typing and retyping her response, trying to choose the right words to bring him home, and feels a twinge of guilt – he knows she's just worried. She's not trying to keep him captive, just trying to protect him. And after all, it was his fault she spent the last three months in a perpetual state of anxiety. He can't really blame her for wanting to keep him in her sight.

 _Be safe,_ her message reads simply. _Call if you need a ride._

And that's it. Breathing a sigh of relief, Roy sends back a quick ' _okay,'_ plugs in his headphones, picks a radio station and sets out into the park. It's a beautiful afternoon, clear and cool, and the area is relatively quiet. In the light breeze, the long shadows of the trees quiver a little, and the smell of cut grass fills the air. Roy feels something inside himself uncoil just a little (nothing like three months in a basement to reawaken your appreciation for the outdoors).

* * *

The sun is just beginning to set and Roy has almost reached the western edge of the park when he notices that someone is following him.

At first, he thinks he must be paranoid. There aren't a lot of major paths through Star Memorial; the person behind him could just be following the same one at the same pace by coincidence. But when Roy tries speeding up and slowing down, and the stranger stays the same twenty paces behind him, he begins to think it's not just in his head.

He changes course, away from the archery ranges and toward the soccer fields by the shore. The turn lets him glimpse his stalker in his peripheral vision – a man, trim and dark-skinned, maybe one or two inches shorter than him, walking with head down and hood up. Between the angle and the jacket, Roy can't get a good look at his face, but increases his pace as he tries to remember if Murphy Windmill is on the north or the south end of the soccer pitches. Inside his pocket, he checks to make sure the GPS switch on his phone is set to 'on.'

It's probably nothing. It's probably just some guy who thinks he looks like an easy target – teenager, headphones on, alone in the park – and is waiting for the right opportunity to mug him. But that's what he thought about the LexCorp goon who stabbed him with a tranquilizer needle in an alleyway three months ago, so he isn't exactly inclined to wait and see.

"Right," Roy mutters as the windmill comes into view at the top of the hill, perched on the cliffside that divides the park from the ocean. "Let's talk, then."

He makes for the structure, keeping his pace relaxed and surreptitiously unplugging his headphones so he can hear the man's footfalls. He's sure now that this isn't random, that he _is_ being followed, and not particularly subtly either. In some ways that's reassuring; no trained LexCorp henchman would be this blatant, so it probably _is_ some lowlife who's made a poor choice in a mark.

Finally, Roy is cutting between the windmill and the groundskeeper's house, stepping up onto the cement foundation of the iconic structure. At the last minute he takes a sharp left and slips behind the far wall of the base of the windmill, quickly pushing his headphones down around his neck and assuming a defensive stance in the shadows. Footsteps, now more hesitant, announce the approach of his pursuer, and he takes in an anticipatory breath.

The moment the man's sneaker appears around the corner, Roy lunges forward, seizes him by the front of his jacket, and slams him back against the concrete wall of the windmill, feeling a momentary thrill as his muscle memory kicks in. The stranger lets out a soft, surprised noise but to Roy's confusion, doesn't make any effort to fight back as he's pushed back into the wall, which leaves Roy disoriented with nothing to counter or parry. Furthermore, the sudden movement has dislodged his hood, and Roy is again confused to see that it's not really a man at all, more of a boy – he can't possibly be older than Roy's sixteen years – with green-grey eyes and a long, straight nose and cheekbones that could cut glass. Roy can't help but feel he's seen that face somewhere before.

"Why are you following me?" he demands after he's shaken his momentary disorientation, keeping pressure on the stranger's windpipe; he can feel the boy's Adam's apple bob against his forearm when he swallows.

"My apologies," says the stranger. His voice is strange, too – soft and coarse at once, with a faint accent Roy can't place. "I was sent to ensure you did not come to harm. I did not mean to – "

" – sent by who?" Roy demands, shoving him a little more firmly into the windmill, which is probably unnecessary; the kid clearly isn't here to fight him.

The dark-skinned boy flicks his eyes left and right, scanning the area for something, onlookers, probably. He seems less shaken than he ought to be about being jumped on a deserted cliffside.

"The League," he murmurs, looking back to Roy. "I did not mean to interfere with your..."

But he trails off, looking frustrated, as though he's lost the word he meant to say, and suddenly Roy remembers where he's seen him before. With a sigh, he steps back and releases the boy, looking him up and down one more time just to be sure.

"You're Aqualad," he says as the stranger rubs his neck where Roy's forearm had been a moment before. Roy hadn't noticed it in the shadows, but there are three thin, flared slits on each side of his neck – gills, presumably. "Aquaman's new protégé."

He knows a few things about this guy – signed on as Aquaman's sidekick half a year ago or so, spent a few months training and learning protocol down in Atlantis, started doing his first surface missions only a few weeks before Roy took his involuntary vacation. He feels a flash of irritation – he should have expected that Ollie or Dinah would send someone to tail him if they weren't going to do it themselves, but did they really have to send the new kid?

"Yes," the boy – Aqualad – says, nodding. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to cause you alarm. I had hoped you would not notice my presence at all, actually."

Roy takes another step back, letting out a breath and cursing his still-hammering heartbeat.

"Yeah, well, you're pretty shitty at being stealthy," he says.

"You are probably right," says Aqualad. He opens his mouth as if to say something more, then shuts it, shaking his head and looking away.

"Sorry," Roy mumbles, sensing he's been rude. It's not like it's the kid's fault he got orders to babysit.

"No," says the other boy, looking back up at him and smiling. It's a strange smile, one that's conveyed more with his eyes than with his mouth, but it seems sincere, if a little sheepish. "You are right. I am still working on my – well, I do not know the English word but – walking is still less natural for me than I would like."

"Land legs," Roy supplies. Aqualad nods graciously and there's a moment of odd silence during which he looks past Roy, out toward the ocean. It's hard to tell if he's uncomfortable or just thinking. Roy fights conflicting urges to ditch the kid and just head home, or to do the polite thing and ask.

"You uh...you okay there?" Roy asks finally, when he can't muster enough sullenness to leave.

"I am sorry," says Aqualad quickly, looking away from the coast and back to Roy. "I – this will sound strange but...I have never seen the sister ocean before."

"The Pacific?" Roy asks to clarify, and gets a nod in response. He stares out at it for a while, at the sun sinking toward the water, tinging the blue wavetips with gold. "Yeah, it's...it's something."

Particularly right now. Even _he_ can't deny the beauty of his home coast at sunset.

He turns back. The reflection of the sky is glimmering in the other boy's bright eyes – he still hasn't looked away. And maybe it's the scenery or the fresh air or the fact that Roy hasn't spoken to anyone under the age of thirty in months, but he can't seem to hold onto his usual hostility.

"You wanna get a closer look?" Roy asks, hands in his pockets as he jerks his head toward the ocean.

Wordlessly, the Atlantean nods.

Feeling oddly pleased, Roy turns to the north and starts walking.

"I know a way down," he says as the other boy falls into step beside him. "C'mon, I'll show you."


	2. mission

_August 11_ _th_ _, 2008, 2:47 AM – Upstate New York (Hamilton County)_

"No dice," Roy grunts, hopping back down from the stack of crates to the storeroom floor. His eyes are beginning to adjust to the darkness, but he's still startled when Kaldur's voice comes from above him – he hadn't noticed him climbing up.

"Dice?" the Atlantean repeats confusedly as he lands beside the archer and straightens out.

"It's not going to work," says Roy. _Right, slang is still an issue._ "Even if we could get the grille off, the vents are too small for either of us to crawl through."

"Wonderful," says Kaldur. Roy has learned to recognize the sarcasm even when there's no hint of it in the other boy's tone, which there usually isn't.

It's the middle of the night and they're on a joint assignment with both their mentors, a covert-ops project to shut down an off-grid drug manufacturing plant the League knows to be producing supersteroids. Really, only one of the two Leaguers was supposed to come along, but it seems that Ollie didn't trust Roy to follow Orin's orders and Orin didn't trust Ollie to give sensible ones, so the result has been a truly tangled chain of command that's landed both sidekicks in a bit of a bind: security was a little more clever than anticipated and now they're trapped in a storeroom no bigger than a VW Beetle.

"I'd blast the door open, but at this range we'd probably get blown to pieces with it," Roy sighs, leaning his bow against a crate and lowering himself to the ground. "Guess we wait."

"There must be some way..." Kaldur mutters, trying for the fourth or fifth time to wrench the door open, but even his strength is no match for its reinforced steel. Finally, he gives up with a sigh of frustration and sinks to the floor beside the other boy.

"Hey, worst case scenario we wait here until they come and bust us out," Roy shrugs, though the thought annoys him (lately, he's been itching for independence, much more than when he first started with Ollie). "We accomplished the core objective. That's what counts."

Kaldur makes a noise of agreement and presumably nods, but it's impossible to see in the darkness, which is in itself evidence of their success. The power is off and will be staying that way for the foreseeable future – they sabotaged the central generator some twenty minutes ago, ending all manufacturing on the main floor. It would have been nice of one or the other of their mentors to warn them that doing so would summon a whole squad of robotic security units, sure, but as they're both relatively unscathed and not predisposed to whine, neither boy says so.

"So," says Roy finally, after they've stewed in silence a while. "What do you call those things again, the half-swords?"

" _Hydrokhoös,"_ says Kaldur. The faint scrape of metal on cement announces that he's picked one up. "Waterbearers. My king had the deans of the Academy of Sorcery develop them for me."

"Mm. Pass one here?"

Roy holds a hand out and Kaldur lays the weapon in his palm easily, reminding him that Atlantean night vision is much better than human (just one more biological advantage Roy can feign bitterness over). The device is heavier than Roy is expecting for a short, hollow tube, but it's well-balanced and the grip is effortlessly designed; he gives it a few experimental swings, testing the feel.

"Well, if nothing else, you whack a goon with one of those things and he won't be getting up for a while," he jokes finally, passing it back.

"My king encourages me to think of them as tools rather than weapons," says Kaldur.

"That's cute," says Roy, leaning his head back against a crate.

Kaldur doesn't respond for a moment and Roy wonders if his remark was out of line. He didn't mean to be patronizing. He's just comfortable around Kaldur, and for him, comfortable usually means snide.

"Do you not wish our work were less violent?" asks Kaldur before Roy can decide whether or not to apologize.

"I don't know," says Roy, looking down and running a thumb over his wrist bracer. "Not sure there's a choice about it nine times out of ten. I don't spend a whole lot of time thinking about how I wish the job would go. I mostly just...do it, I guess."

"And I admire that about you," says Kaldur, his voice warm and sincere (two things that make Roy very _un_ comfortable). "In Atlantis you would be a _kepcthys –_ one who leads the school."

"What, like a principal?" asks Roy in confusion.

"Oh – no," says Kaldur hurriedly. "Not school in the academic sense, but rather – "

" – fish," Roy finishes with him, connecting the dots."Right, school of fish, got it. I, uh...thanks."

Kaldur laughs at him, which is startling (Kaldur is not a sour person by any means but he doesn't laugh a whole lot, the same way he doesn't smile with his mouth).

"I will give you your silence now, my friend," he says, sounding amused.

"What?" says Roy. "No, I didn't mean to – you don't have to – I'm just bad at conversation. Sorry."

Kaldur doesn't say anything for a minute; Roy can picture him with that calm, thoughtful expression on his face as he chooses his next words.

"I hope," says Kaldur slowly, after a moment, "that you do not feel an obligation to spend time with me simply because it is what our respective mentors desire."

"I mean, right now I feel an obligation to spend time with you because we're literally locked in a closet together," Roy can't stop himself from pointing out, though he hurries to continue: "But no, that's not...that's not it at all. Look, I know I'm not exactly the most warm and fuzzy person on the planet, but I...I..."

"It is fine," Kaldur says, cutting his stammering short. Roy is simultaneously relieved and disappointed in himself at his inability to speak the simple truth: he's only known Kaldur a few months, but he's already convinced they're going to die in a blaze of glory together. "You do not have to say anything. I trust the honesty of your actions."

Honored but still stuck for words, Roy reaches out in the darkness in an attempt to put a hand on Kaldur's shoulder, but misjudges the distance and hits him in the face instead.

"Shit, fuck, sorry," he hurries, retracting his hand quickly as Kaldur begins to laugh at him again. "Thought you were further away. I didn't mean to – "

" – I will take it as a peculiar surface-dweller way of expressing friendship," Kaldur says.

"Yeah, you'll know we're _really_ tight when I kneecap you," Roy quips back sheepishly, shifting to make himself more comfortable on the concrete floor.

"I look forward to it."

* * *

Their mentors come to fetch them within the hour, just as the two boys have almost succeeded in setting themselves free. Roy has been coaching Kaldur on the basics of breaking and entering (or in their case, exiting), which he insists should be a cinch with malleable tools like the waterbearers. Kaldur has fashioned one into a tension wrench and the other into a lockpick but is struggling to maintain those unfamiliar shapes and obey his friend's oft-vague instructions simultaneously ("now just jiggle it until it feels right," Roy keeps saying unhelpfully, unable to see what the hell the Atlantean is doing in the dark).

When the door abruptly swings open, Roy lets out an excited shout, thinking Kaldur has pulled it off, only to come face to face with two familiar blond, bearded heroes, both of whom look confused at his outburst.

"That eager to get out, eh?" Ollie quips as he tosses the key aside, giving Kaldur an inquisitive look. "What'd you do to him?"

"I – " Kaldur begins, face coloring.

"None of your business," Roy mutters automatically, also embarrassed; his rudeness draws a slight frown from Aquaman.

"You did well, my son," the king says, laying a hand on Kaldur's shoulder. "This facility will be out of operation for quite a while."

"Enough for us to dig through all the shell corporations and figure out who was running it, anyway," says Ollie, clapping Roy on the back. "Mission accomplished. First drink's on me!"

As they trail their mentors out into the night, one blissfully unaware of the other's disapproving glares, the two boys exchange a look.

("To more like it," Roy will toast of the mission to Kaldur later, when Ollie makes good on his promise and leaves them in the basement with a six-pack of Heineken. And Kaldur will smile and lift his bottle and let the other boy teach him to enjoy breaking the rules on occasion.)


	3. blood

_March 4_ _th_ _, 2019, 4:02 PM – Star City (Industrial District)_

"Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine..." Roy is counting under his breath, fingers tapping each arrowhead on the long shelf before which he's currently crouched. He's taking inventory in one of the ammunition stashes he and Ollie keep, which they make a point of checking on a rotating schedule. Kaldur was going to come help him do this one so they could hang out later, but he got called off on a last-minute assignment with Aquaman, something about a hostage situation on board a historic boat on Chesapeake Bay, so Roy's on his own making a list of what the safehouse has and what should get restocked.

He's just marking the number of remaining grappling arrows on Ollie's handheld computer when, from across the room, his phone goes off. The longer, repeated vibration announces that it's a call and not a text, which is unusual. Setting aside the safehouse device, he stands up and goes to fetch his cell, which is flashing Dinah's name as he stoops to withdraw it from the pocket of his discarded jacket.

"What's up?" he asks, casting a glance at the clock on the wall. No, he's not late for anything, at least as far as he knows.

"Roy – I'm glad you picked up," Dinah replies, sounding rushed. Her voice is hard to understand – wherever she is, there's a lot of activity, or at least a lot of noise. "Listen, I don't have a lot of time to explain, but there's been a – a complication with Aquaman's current mission. Aqualad's been injured. Thought you'd want to know."

"Injured?" Roy repeats, his heart skipping one enormous beat before his training forces it back into its normal rhythm. There are injuries all the time. He was out himself for two weeks in January with a sprained wrist. It's probably nothing.

"I don't know the details," says Dinah. "But it's apparently pretty serious. I need to suit up and go finish the job so I won't be able to update you, but I'll send coordinates to your comm. He should be arriving at the hospital soon. Do what you need to do."

"What do you – what am I sup– " Roy begins, but a _click_ on the line announces that Dinah is gone.

He stares at his phone for a second, feeling disoriented, when a faint beep in his ear announces that he's received a message on his comm, presumably the coordinates Dinah promised. For a moment, he wonders why she called him instead of radioing, and then it occurs to him that she probably wasn't supposed to share this information at all. And if the situation is bad enough that Dinah's breaking protocol...

A strange cool settles over Roy, overriding the natural urge to panic. He checks his wrist comm for the coordinates, figures out how close he can get by zeta, and heads out.

* * *

He draws looks when he enters the hospital lobby, slightly out of breath from having sprinted a mile and a half from the zeta station. It might be the agitation written all over his face, but more likely it's the bright yellow hat – he suited up before he left in the hope that what little public recognition he has might convince the staff to let him past the waiting room.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. The receptionist looks him up and down as he approaches, taking in the tights and the tunic and the stupid feather (he really needs to talk to Ollie about updating his costume), but looks more apprehensive than starstruck.

"I've seen you before," she says. "I bet you're here because of – "

" – Aqualad," Roy finishes impatiently. "Where is he?"

"I'm afraid I can't divulge confidential patient information," the woman says hesitantly. "Unless you're family, which...well..."

"Look, this obviously isn't an ordinary situation," Roy interrupts, trying to keep his temper in check – he doesn't have time for the red tape. "I'm a friend. Just tell me where he is."

The woman glances uncomfortably at the double doors to her right. Through their latticed windows, Roy can see doctors and EMTs hurrying in and out of rooms, pushing stretchers and wheelchairs, carting equipment. It's clearly the trauma ward, even if there isn't a sign denoting it as such.

"What room?" Roy presses, laying a hand on the desk beseechingly. "Please."

"I – I can't – " the woman begins to say.

With a noise of frustration, Roy wheels away from the desk and makes for the double doors, mentally preparing to engage the two security guards he's seen in his peripheral vision.

"Sir – " the receptionist calls to his back, the scrape of her chair announcing that she's stood up. "Sir, you can't – "

But just as the security guards move to intercept him, a new voice sounds out, its firm authority halting both them and Roy in their tracks:

"Let him pass."

Roy turns on his heel just as Aquaman's hand descends on his shoulder. The king locks eyes with him for a moment, greeting him with a small nod, then pulls open the door to the trauma ward.

"This way, my son," he says. For once, Roy swallows his objection to the patronizing greeting.

* * *

Roy and Orin exchange no words as the king leads them through the hallway towards a door near its end. The doctors look up as they enter the cramped room but immediately return to their patient, apparently unsurprised by their arrival – either Aquaman called ahead or he's already been in here and merely collected Roy on his way back.

Kaldur is lying on his back on an inclined bed, hooked up to half a dozen busily beeping machines, all of which are painting an alarming picture: his blood pressure is much too low; his heart rate is much too fast; his respiration is much too shallow. The wound in his side has been bound as tightly as possible, but blood is still seeping out of the bandages, slicking the gloves hands of the nurse who's been assigned to keep the pressure until the transfusion arrives. Roy remembers from a conversation he and Kaldur had a few months ago that Kaldur has a unique blood type due to his half-human, half-Atlantean physiology; there is no universal donor for him. His body will accept only his own blood, drawn at regular intervals ever since he came on as Orin's sidekick in case of an emergency like this one. Inwardly, Roy wonders how far off that blood is, and prays to whatever god is out there that it isn't all the way in Atlantis.

Kaldur's unfocused, half-lidded gaze slides to Roy as he slips around the conferring doctors to the head of the bed, trying to get as close as he can without getting in the way. Aquaman hangs back, standing against the wall just inside the doorway, and if Roy could think straight right now, he'd probably marvel at the fact that the king of Atlantis just ceded a post at his protégé's side to _him,_ of all people.

"Hey," Roy says breathlessly, tempted to strip away his mask so he can look Kaldur in the eye properly. He lays a hand on the Atlantean's shoulder gingerly; the skin there is cool, clammy, and damp with sweat. "Hey, I'm here, I – Canary told me – "

He loses the thought and shuts his mouth. Kaldur makes a weak noise that makes Roy's stomach churn; the heart rate monitor beeps faster.

"Don't try to talk, asshole," Roy snaps, expressing his fear through anger, the only way he knows how. He swallows over the lump in his throat and squeezes his friend's shoulder in unspoken apology, hoping he understands. "Just hang on, okay? Stay with me."

The doctors work around him seamlessly, seeming unbothered by his presence. Maybe they've had wounded heroes in here before and know better than to try and reason with his kind; maybe they just think it's simpler not to argue with him about moving. Internally, he bites back the million other words that so desperately want to escape him. _what happened? how bad is it? are you in pain? who did this? what can I do?_

"Yes?" Orin mutters; Roy turns and sees the king with a finger pressed to his ear, apparently talking to someone on his comm. "Yes. Room 139. Hurry."

A split second later the door opens, a red blur stilling into the form of the Flash, who's clasping a small cooler.

"That the blood?" one of the doctors asks, straightening out from where he's been cutting away Kaldur's uniform shirt with some difficulty – it's made of very, very tough neoprene.

"Yes," Orin responds, nodding his thanks to his colleague, who lingers worriedly for a moment before clasping the king's shoulder and disappearing in another blur. Apparently it's been a Day for the League.

As the medical team hurries to prepare the transfusion, Roy leans in, trying to make sure Kaldur can see and hear him, even through the chaos.

"Blood's here," he says, forcing a faltering grin. "Nice try, prick. You don't get to bail on us just yet."

Just as one of the doctors begins to swab Kaldur's forearm, sterilizing it in preparation for the IV insertion, Kaldur's eyes slip shut and the steady beep of the heart monitor falters into irregularity. In an instant the doctors burst into action, exchanging fast, tense orders, some of which Roy understands and some of which he doesn't, mostly because he can't look away from his best friend's paling face.

"Kaldur," Roy hisses into the Atlantean's ear, tightening his grip on his shoulder as the doctors move to inject him with atropine to regulate his heartbeat. "Don't you dare go to sleep on me, you bastard. Fourth of July, you promised me we'd go together. They're going to show us the Hall, the Watc - they're going to let us inside their world, all four of us, you have to hold on, come _on_ – "

A violent shudder wracks Kaldur's body and his eyes flutter half-open once more. At the same instant, the nurse makes a noise of triumph as blood begins to flow through the drip and into the Atlantean's arm – the transfusion is underway.

"Look at me," Roy urges, and Kaldur does, slowly and with confusion written all across his ashen face. The heart monitor is beeping more regularly again, though still far too infrequently. "You're going to be okay, dammit, just don't give up. Please. Just don't give up. We – _I_ need you. Please."

And Kaldur doesn't. An hour and a half later, the doctors have declared him stable. His wound has been irrigated, treated, packed, and wrapped solidly with clean bandages; his vitals have reapproximated their intended rhythms. It will be at least two days before they'll even consider releasing him to League medical care and a month before he can expect to move without pain, but Roy isn't really thinking about those things yet. The only thing he needs to know about the future right now is that Kaldur will be in it.

* * *

He is awakened some time later by a sudden influx of light. He jerks upright in his chair, blinking rapidly and confusedly, his neck aching from where it's been cricked up against the wall.

"You're still here," says a deep voice in surprise. Aquaman is standing with hand still on the light switch, a sight that reminds Roy where he is. He looks to his right as quickly as his stiff neck will let him and discovers that yes, Kaldur is still there, lying propped on his many cushions, wired to his many machines, and definitely awake.

"Yeah, I..." Roy begins, trailing off as he rubs his neck and looks to Kaldur. He doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he does is taking a seat next to Kaldur's new bed in the ICU and texting Ollie that he wouldn't be coming home that night. By the looks of the world outside the window, it's nearing sunrise. "How long have you been up?"

"Unsure," Kaldur replies, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and a little bit slurred – the blood loss, probably, and maybe the painkillers if they've risked those yet. "Twenty minutes, perhaps."

"Yes, the nurse on duty contacted me to say as much," says Orin as he moves to his protégé's side and draws up a chair. "How are you feeling, Kaldur'ahm?"

Roy rolls his neck, one hand holding his shoulder steady as he listens for the answer. He suspects he was just given a cue to leave, but he's not planning to unless explicitly asked.

"I am..." Kaldur begins slowly, brow furrowing in concentration. "I am...tired, my king."

 _Tired?_ Roy wants to repeat incredulously. _Nearly two liters of blood, and you're "tired?"_

Orin nods understandingly, placing a hand on Kaldur's forearm.

"Of course," he says. "I will let you rest again very soon. Do you require anything? Food, drink?"

Kaldur shakes his head slowly. He looks better than he did when Roy first saw him in the ER; his face has a little more color, and his gaze, while a bit unfocused, doesn't have that glassy look anymore. Still, Roy feels a belated lurch in his stomach as he begins to process just how close a call this really was.

"If you feel up to it, I would like to speak with you about what happened," says Orin. "For the mission report. Is that acceptable?"

"You're grilling him _now?"_ Roy asks dubiously. "You can't let a guy recoup a few fluids before you fill out the paperwork?"

Orin looks surprised at his outburst, then just displeased – the corners of his mouth tighten slightly and he sits up in his chair, prompting Roy to do the same. Before he can say anything, though, Kaldur speaks up from the bed.

"The hostages," he says hoarsely, head turning a few painstaking degrees toward his mentor. "Are they safe?"

"They are all alive, my son," Orin reassures him, laying a hand on his arm. "Alive and out of danger now, in large part thanks to you. You did well."

Kaldur nods, eyes slipping shut. For a moment, Roy thinks he's gone to sleep, but then his lips move once more, though at first no sound comes out. He tries again:

"I am ready to give my report, Annex."

"Christ," Roy mutters under his breath.

"Speedy," says Orin, turning to him and speaking in that very measured tone that means he's _choosing_ not to be forceful when he very well could. It's way more annoying than being yelled at, Roy decides. "If you would give us the room."

"How about instead of making him do this twice, I just stay?" says Roy, knowing full well he's pushing his luck. "Shockingly, I'm also pretty curious to know how the hell he ended up with a gaping hole in his abdomen."

"It's very late," says Aquaman, a firmer edge to his voice. "You should be getting home to your family, son."

"I don't have a family," Roy snaps.

" _Fï le mó_ ,"– _my friend –_ says Kaldur softly, and Roy isn't sure if the rebuke is for his insubordination or the questionable claim he just made. Either way, he takes a hint, swallows his pride and stands up on stiff knees, jaw set tight in frustration.

"Fine. I'll be back in half an hour," he says bitterly, and sweeps out the door to look for the hospital cafeteria.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later, Roy is busy brooding over a cup of lukewarm minestrone soup when Aquaman slides into the booth opposite him and folds his hands neatly on the table.

There is one long, superbly tense moment of silence. Roy feels like he's expected to apologize, or at least acknowledge that he spoke out of turn, but it's four in the morning and his best friend nearly bled to death in front of him ten hours ago, so he just eats another spoonful of death-by-salt and meets Orin's eyes challengingly.

Finally, the king sighs.

"It has been a long day for us both, I suspect," he says quietly.

Roy knows an olive branch when he sees one and sets down his spoon. He averts his gaze, looking out at the rest of the empty cafeteria.

"He asleep again?" he asks, probably more gruffly than necessary.

"I expect he is by now, yes," says Aquaman, sounding calm but tired. "He lost a great deal of blood. He will need plenty of rest in the days to come."

"Right," says Roy. He shifts his eyes again, this time to a health poster behind Aquaman's right shoulder, but still doesn't look him in the eye. Still, he can sense the man searching for the right words, or at least exhibiting the same body language that Kaldur does when he's preparing to speak.

"I know you think me harsh for requesting his report so soon," Orin says at last. "And for insisting it be administered in private. I also know that your conduct is driven by your care for Kaldur'ahm and his well-being, and it is for that reason I am prepared to overlook your disrespect. But in the future, it would be best for you to trust that I – or any other member of the League, for that matter – would not make such decisions without good reason."

Roy bristles at the reprimand, but keeps himself in check. He may be hotheaded but he'd still like to have a prayer of joining the League someday soon.

"I know protocol isn't arbitrary," he says when he thinks he can manage a neutral tone. "I just don't see the point in following it so rigidly in this case. I have computer access to most League mission reports anyway. What's the difference in having me hear his account directly and reading it in the archives?"

Weirdly, Aquaman smiles at that, a slightly baffled smile but a smile nonetheless.

"I would think that was obvious," he says.

Roy tries hard not to scowl.

"Well, it's not."

"Kaldur'ahm has a very high opinion for you, as I'm sure you know," says Aquaman. "I myself was unaware of the events that led to his injury. If it was the case that the situation arose due to his own negligence or poor judgment, I needed to be sure he could say as much, uninhibited by any self-consciousness at your presence."

"He wouldn't have lied," Roy objects even as he masks his surprise at the Atlantean's words.

"No," Aquaman agrees. "I do not believe he would have. But I did not wish to bring him embarrassment by forcing him to confess a misstep in front of a respected peer."

Roy drops his eyes to the table as a strange, disorientingly warm feeling takes root in his stomach. It's definitely not the soup.

"... _was_ it his fault?" he finally asks, picking up his spoon and pushing a few beans around the cup.

"No," says Aquaman, and Roy's pretty sure there's a note of pride in his tone. The king hesitates for a moment, then lowers his voice and continues: "It was as I thought. While Kaldur'ahm was negotiating with an armed suspect, one of the hostages made an ill-advised attempt at escape. The suspect lashed out, Kaldur'ahm stepped in to intervene to protect the civilian, and he was stabbed in the struggle. That is the short of it, in any case."

"Sounds like him," Roy remarks. Finally, he lifts his eyes up and meets Orin's through his domino mask. The king seems to be studying his face.

"I may struggle to understand it at times," Aquaman says finally, "but I _am_ grateful for the bond you share with my protégé, Speedy. He is not one to take friendship lightly. I trust you to honor that dedication in turn."

And before Roy can decide if that was a vote of confidence or a warning, Aquaman rises, standing with his hand on the edge of the booth.

"I have asked the nurses to make up the bed adjacent to Kaldur'ahm's for your use," he says. "I imagine he would prefer you not to sacrifice your spinal integrity on his account. Good night, my son. I will be back to check on Kaldur's progress in the morning. Until then, I suggest we both get some rest."

Roy nods, watches him go, and waits until he's gone to mumble _not your son_ into the last bite of his soup.


	4. want

_June 10_ _th_ _, 2011 6:34 PM – Happy Harbor (Mt. Justice)_

Roy lets out a deep breath and takes in a new one, thick with steam. The water from the shower is hot, almost uncomfortably so, but it feels good after an afternoon freezing his ass off with Kaldur, M'gann and Zatanna up in Barrow, Alaska. They'd been checking up on rumors of a Light-operated weapons manufacturing facility near the 71st parallel; the rumors had turned out to be unsubstantiated, but the six hours spent zipping around on snowmobiles had actually been pretty enjoyable, particularly given the company. He'll never admit it, but having Zee and Miss M chat away about totally normal stuff on the comm line had been oddly relaxing – almost as relaxing as having Kaldur in his peripheral vision through the whole snowy journey, silent and focused and unshakably calm.

It's been almost five months since Roy found out who (or rather _what_ ) he really is. The first four weren't pretty. He'd launched himself into the hunt for the original Roy Harper without strategy or moderation, and the results had been predictably bad, both for himself and the search. But since striking a deal with Dinah in mid-April (League support in exchange for regular check-ins and the occasional Team mission), he's begun to settle into the truth of his force-grown body. He'd still trade his life for his original's in a heartbeat, but he's starting to accept that he's more complex than his genetics, that he might be allowed his own thoughts and feelings and even desires, on occasion.

When Roy slips out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist and hair still dripping wet, Kaldur looks up from his seat on the locker room bench. The Atlantean is half-dressed, jeans on but unbuttoned, shirt still folded neatly beside him. He's got a scar Roy doesn't recognize, a jagged little magenta line just below his right pectoral, a few inches above the bigger one from the Chesapeake incident a year ago.

"How is your hypothermia, my friend?" Kaldur jokes as he reaches for the roll of nylon bandages beside him.

Roy pulls his eyes back up to the Atlantean's face, deciding not to ask about the mark.

"Think I've managed to keep all my fingers and toes for now," he replies. "How about next time, you find a suspicious building in the Caribbean somewhere?"

Kaldur humors him with a quiet laugh.

"I will put in a word with Batman."

Kaldur turns his attention to wrapping his hand (training incident last week, nothing serious), and Roy moves to his locker to start getting dressed. It opens at a press of his palm, accepting his fingerprints; briefly, he wonders if Speedy's would be the same, or if like identical twins, clones have their own prints.

"You up to anything later?" he asks as he steps into his boxers and pulls them up, removing the towel and hanging it on the edge of his open locker door.

"Well, I must submit the mission report," says Kaldur distractedly, "though I do not expect that will take long. I had intended to catch up on some reading tonight, but...I could be persuaded to change my plans. Did you have something in mind?"

"Not really," says Roy, zipping up his jeans and reaching for his belt. "This band I liked – like – is playing a free concert in Star Memorial Park tonight. Was thinking of checking it out, keeping an eye out for troublemakers...you know."

" _Gámi,"_ Kaldur swears below his breath (it's a common misconception that Kaldur doesn't swear – he just doesn't do it in English). Roy looks over to see that he's dropped the bandage roll, which is currently rolling its merry way toward the far lockers.

"I'll get it," Roy says, taking two long, quick strides before bending to snatch the thing up. "Here. Pass me the scissors."

Kaldur complies, and Roy cuts off the length that came in contact with the floor. Once he's disposed of it, he moves to take a seat beside his friend, straddling the bench and brandishing the rest of the bandage roll.

"Give me your hand," he says. He's expecting resistance, and is already prepared to point out that _no one_ can wrap their good hand with their bad hand effectively, but Kaldur just nods and lays his wrist in Roy's waiting palm without a word.

They're both silent for a moment as Roy begins to redress the injury, careful not to bind it too tight or pull it across the webbing between Kaldur's fingers, then Kaldur speaks again.

"I have not had much exposure to surface music," he says, watching Roy work. "I would be glad to accompany you to the concert, if you wished."

Roy tapes off the end of the wrapping and looks back up. Kaldur's gaze is steady and amiable, studying him patiently, and suddenly whatever remained of the Alaska chill vacates Roy's chest, leaving him feeling strangely warm.

"Yeah, if you want," he says when he finds his voice again, patting the top of Kaldur's hand and letting it go.

He stands up, steps around his friend and back to his locker, letting his eyes linger on the place where Kaldur's tattoos meet in the musculature right between his shoulder blades. Then Kaldur pulls a loose tank top over his head and Roy drags his eyes reluctantly away.

"Thank you for the invitation," says Kaldur. Roy nods into his locker, keeping his face averted lest it give him away. "It is good to have you back, my friend."

Roy's still unsure if he's allowed to want things. What he would want if he _was_ , though, is less and less of a mystery.


	5. confession

_June 21_ _st_ _, 10:38 PM – Star City (Downtown)_

Roy hasn't been this drunk in a while – certainly not since before his New Year's revelation, and maybe not since the day after Halloween last year when he lost track of his whiskey poring over all the information he could dig up on Artemis, M'gann and Conner _(thanks, Cadmus programming)._ But it's Dinah's birthday, Ollie has thrown her a party with an open bar, and Red Tornado is out patrolling Star City tonight, so Roy's given himself permission to cut loose a little. Thus far, "a little" has amounted to two beers, three whisky sours and a shot of tequila (though not in that order because Roy isn't an amateur).

"Betcha I can hit Hal in the back of th'head on the first try," he tells Kaldur, creasing the edge of the paper plane he just made from a cardstock drink menu. They're standing on the edge of the ballroom, avoiding engaging with the actual adults.

"I bet you can too," says Kaldur, looking simultaneously affectionate and exasperated (a combination he has pretty much perfected over the course of their friendship). He's holding Roy's beer at the moment and has gone as far as to poach a sip or two, but is otherwise quite sober.

"Five bucks says," says Roy, squinting down the plane's length. His target is across the room, chatting with his date, a pretty black-haired woman who's apparently an actual rocket scientist. Roy thinks her surname might be Ferris because he remembers Ollie making a joke about being Hal's date being "fair as hell" and laughing that stupid laugh he only uses when he's made a dumb pun, but that was around whisky sour #2, so he could definitely be wrong.

"I am not betting against you, my friend," says Kaldur. "Do you think I have learned nothing in the past three years?"

"Deal," says Roy, who isn't really listening.

As Kaldur shakes his head in mock(?) annoyance, Roy launches his craft with a deft flick of the wrist. The little vessel sails over the heads of the first cluster of Ollie's society friends, curves between two decorative pillars, then makes a broad arc down toward Hal's unsuspecting head. Just before it's about to make contact, though, Ms. Ferris's hand darts forward and catches it in midair, her eyebrows furrowing in recognition.

"Shit, shit, fuck," Roy curses, trying not to laugh as she turns toward them, eyes combing the partygoers for the culprit. "Hide me, look normal, do something, help – "

He grabs Kaldur's jacket, attempting to pull the Atlantean in front of him as a human shield, but Kaldur is very solid and apparently not feeling very cooperative, because all Roy gets for his effort is an amused look and not a lot of budging.

"I will not play accomplice to your delinquency," says Kaldur with no real malice, taking another sip of Roy's beer.

Roy doesn't reply, abruptly distracted by the interesting texture of Kaldur's navy blazer. He rubs the fabric between his fingers, leaning in and staring at it under the pale yellow light of the overhead chandelier, until the Atlantean begins to speak again and Roy's head jerks up in surprise and collides solidly with Kaldur's jaw. Reeling, Roy releases Kaldur's lapels and stumbles back, tripping over his own feet and nearly falling over entirely, but before he can, a pair of hands descends on his shoulder from behind, steadying him, and a familiar voice sounds in his ear.

"Good to see you're in better spirits these days," says Hal with an amused chuckle. "Pun intended."

Ms. Ferris (Dr. Ferris? Roy isn't sure) snorts at the joke, arms folded across her chest as she eyes the two young men before her like she's deciding how entertaining disciplining them would actually be. In the meanwhile, Kaldur has crouched to mop up some of Roy's spilled beer, which is only moderately less distracting than the texture of his blazer was a minute ago.

"Hey," Roy mumbles as he shrugs out of Hal's grip, struggling with conflicting impulses to smile or scowl at Hal's fatherly behavior, which seems extra out-of-place when he remembers he's responsible for losing sixteen hours of this man's life. He ends up making a face that probably just reads as _very drunk._

"Still have all your teeth?" Hal asks Kaldur, who has straightened out and is rubbing his jaw where the back of Roy's head collided with it.

"I believe so," says the Atlantean with a soft, self-conscious laugh.

"Fu – shit, sorry," Roy says, processing that he's the one who hit him. He stumbles forward, hands reaching up to tilt Kaldur's head to the side so he can examine the damage properly, but a second later, he accidentally drops the left one to Kaldur's shoulder and gets distracted once again by the soft, cool texture of his suit jacket.

"I take it you're on chaperone duty tonight," Ms. Ferris remarks to Kaldur, who is holding dutifully still as Roy runs his fingers over his chest in fascination.

"We alternate," says Kaldur diplomatically. Roy is just sober enough to process that Kaldur just told a blatant lie on his behalf. Grinning, he slings an arm around the younger man's shoulders and grins for the passing party photographer, then slides back into the middle of the conversation tipsily.

"I get Mondays, Wednesdays n' Fridays," he jokes. "He gets Tuesday an' Thursday an' Saturday."

"And you both take Sunday off," Hal surmises.

"Yeah. And holidays."

"Something like that," says Kaldur.

Ms. Ferris gives him an amused, knowing look.

"Well," says Hal, reaching into his pocket to procure the paper airplane Roy threw at him. "Good to know your friends and your aim are still as good as ever."

"You wanna fight?" Roy asks instinctively, sensing (incorrectly) that he's being mocked.

A touch on his elbow disorients him momentarily until he discerns that it's Kaldur's hand – a reassurance and a warning in a single gesture.

"Perhaps we should get some air," the Atlantean says with an apologetic smile to Hal and his date, who return it with a laugh and an understanding nod, respectively. "It was good to speak with you both."

"Hey," says Roy as Kaldur steers him toward the balcony doors. "Hey, what's your shirt made of, s'really ...uh, really – "

" – you are drunk, _fï le mó,"_ Kaldur laughs. Without halting their progress, he chugs the rest of Roy's beer, sets the empty bottle down on a table, and snags a glass of water as they pass the beverage cart.

"I know," says Roy, somewhat sheepishly. Kaldur pushes open the double doors to the outside and the night air washes over them like a cool, refreshing tide. At the same instant, something light strikes the back of Roy's head and he wheels around as his paper plane drops to the tile by his feet.

 _I'm watching you,_ mouths Ms. Ferris from across the ballroom, drawing two fingers from her eyes toward both of them. Grinning, Roy salutes her before allowing Kaldur to drag him out onto the balcony and push the water glass into his hands.

"She's fun," Roy opines as he takes a sip of water. Behind them, the door swings shut, and the music of the party dies away. It's nearly midnight and everything is quiet from this high up, removed from the sirens and the shopping carts. Up here, it's just the hum of the wind and the murmur of the far-off ocean.

Kaldur doesn't answer but smiles faintly, looking out over the city. Roy tries not to notice the way the light from the windows at their backs highlights every contour of his angular, beautiful face.

"M'sorry," Roy mumbles after a second, looking away.

"What for?" asks Kaldur distractedly.

Roy frowns into his water.

"I didn't mean t'make you take care of me," he says. "Y'know...again."

At that Kaldur shakes his head and looks back to him, his eyes glinting more silvery than usual in the dim light.

"It is good to see you enjoy yourself," he says. "I had missed this side of you."

"Th'drunk asshole side?"

"Sure," Kaldur says, smiling without his mouth, the smile he reserves for Roy, who doesn't need the assurance of his lips to buy the genuine affection in his eyes.

"You got funny taste in...in sides," Roy says lamely. He turns to gaze over the side of the balcony, elbows resting on top of the balustrade. Kaldur makes a noise that might be assent and joins him, the two of them looking out over the sea of glimmering lights below.

"Wanna zipline down?" Roy asks after a moment of silence.

"Absolutely not."

"I w's kidding."

He wasn't.

Turning around, Roy leans back against the railing – the height doesn't scare him but it _is_ making him just a little bit woozy. Reaching out, he rubs Kaldur's left jacket cuff between his thumb and forefinger, too buzzed and comfortable to stop himself. Kaldur just laughs below his breath and shakes his head and doesn't protest. Roy, emboldened by his friend's nonchalance, begins to run his palm up and down Kaldur's clothed forearm. Still, Kaldur makes no move to pull away.

"It is an Atlantean fabric, hand-woven and treated with rough salts," he explains after a moment. Roy thinks there's something off about his voice but he's too drunk to decide what it could be. "A luxury, even by Poseidonian standards. It was a birthday gift from Queen Mera."

The words sneak into Roy's system like an injection of pure guilt and his hand freezes stiffly on Kaldur's arm. He missed that birthday, didn't even comm in from the outpost in the DRC where he'd been scoping out LexCorp shell company higher-ups. He'd even remembered what day it was when he'd seen the date flash on his minicomputer, but at that point he'd been so convinced of his own worthlessness that he'd assumed Kaldur was better off without a message from him.

Seeming to sense his abrupt change in mood, Kaldur turns his arm up so he can clasp Roy's.

"Enái tïpo'ah," he says quietly – _it is nothing –_ and Roy feels like something is burning inside him. His fingers tighten around Kaldur's forearm and his grip on his water glass threatens to crack the stem clean off.

"I don't deserve – " he begins and doesn't finish, because there are too many truths he could choose. "I – I don't – "

" _Enái tïpo'ah_ , Roy," Kaldur repeats more firmly, squeezing Roy's arm and looking him right in the eye. "These people are your people. This city is your city. You are your own man, and I am your friend."

His face is calm but deadly serious the way only Kaldur's face can be, and yet there's such warmth in his eyes and his words that Roy feels suddenly breathless and helpless and overwhelmed and can think of nothing but how perfect Kaldur is and how badly he wants to hold him and kiss him and fight beside him and make him _happy_. The water glass drops from his hand and shatters on the ground as he reaches out to drag the Atlantean into a trembling embrace, burying his face in the side of Kaldur's neck and pressing both palms deep into the fancy fabric of his blazer.

Kaldur returns the hug without hesitation, cupping the back of Roy's head with one arm and wrapping the other firmly around his back. Roy is drunk and leaning on him more than he ought, but Kaldur just adjusts his stance and takes the extra weight without complaint, threading his fingers gently through Roy's hair and holding him for a long, long moment. Finally, Roy pulls back, resting his forehead against Kaldur's shoulder because he's absolutely certain that if he looks him in the eye again, he won't be able to resist the urge to kiss him senseless.

"M'sorry," he says for the second time that evening.

Kaldur just runs a hand through his hair one more time and smiles.

"I am not," he says. "I am honored that you have let me back in, my friend. Now let us get you a new glass of water."

He tugs Roy gently away from the railing. Impulsively, Roy grabs his hand and holds his ground, forcing Kaldur to stop and look back.

"I love you," he says earnestly, drunk and painfully sincere.

Kaldur smiles that faint smile again, squeezing his hand.

"I love you as well," he says simply, and turns back toward the ballroom doors, releasing Roy's hand.

Roy follows, wondering how it's possible to feel so content and so frustrated all at once.


	6. contact

_July 4_ _th_ _, 2011, 7:08 PM – Happy Harbor (Mt. Justice)_

He's not sure how much more obvious he can get. He's pushed the issue as far as he dares – standing a little too close when they're talking, putting his arm around Kaldur's shoulder when they're just sitting on the couch, holding eye contact longer than is strictly necessary – and while Kaldur doesn't seem to _mind_ his behavior in the least, he also doesn't seem to acknowledge it for what it is, which is desperate, unsubtle, frustrated flirting.

In another world, Roy would have gone for it by now. If on this day a year ago he'd felt the way he feels now, he probably would have gone for the kiss the moment they first stepped into the Hall of Justice, just to mark the occasion and have a good laugh. But a lot of things have changed since New Year's, as though new thoughts and feelings have been growing inside him to fill the hole that his programming left, and one of those feelings is fear. Not normal fear, of course – Roy's still not scared of heights or the dark or giant monsters or death, generally speaking – but he's scared of hurting people in a way he never used to be, and more selfishly, he's scared of being alone.

Kissing Kaldur could (would?) definitely result in both of those things. Or at least, that's the conclusion he's come to every time he's entertained the idea of clarifying what he meant on the balcony at Dinah's party. After all, it's not like he's been subtle. Kaldur almost definitely knows how he feels at this point, and yet he hasn't made a move, and has only barely responded in kind – probably he's just tolerating Roy's behavior because he's polite and nonjudgmental, and because he knows Roy's been in a really weird place since he found out the first fifteen years of his life exist solely in his head. There's no way he reciprocates Roy's feelings, or he would have done something about it.

...right?

It's getting to the point where Roy knows he should just keep his distance a while and wait the worst of it out. In some ways that would be convenient – the search for Speedy takes him away for days, even weeks at a time as it is; maybe if he just stretches those intervals and keeps to himself, he'll stop feeling sick with disappointment every time Kaldur says goodnight and goodbye. Or maybe he should ask M'gann if she can perform some sort of psychological evisceration that'll render him incapable of wondering what the inside of his best friend's mouth tastes like, because that's definitely a thought he's had more than once at really inopportune moments, and he'd like to at least have it only when he wants to have it and not when Batman is explaining parameters.

None of that will help right now, though, because in a moment of weakness, he agreed to join the team for their Fourth of July celebration. And since being around Kaldur makes it pretty much impossible to develop strategies for quashing feelings about him, Roy has figured he'll make an ass of himself for one more day before he officially resigns himself to Getting Over It.

On the plus side, it's a gorgeous evening. The breeze off the harbor cuts through the warm summer haze, just enough to tousle everyone's hair a little but not to blow away their dinner, which they grilled down on the beach and schlepped up to the south slope of the mountain (M'gann swears it's the best spot for watching fireworks). The sky, blue and clear all afternoon, has just begun to fade to a pale orange to herald the sunset, and the water below stretches wide and cool and calm. The whole gang has made it for the picnic, which Robin (and no one else) is aggressively calling a _Teamversary_ party, and Roy is feeling weirdly old, even when he registers that he's technically the second-youngest person there, after Superboy.

"We're supposed to _uphold_ laws, not flaunt them," M'gann is arguing with Artemis, who has apparently brought along a backpack full of fireworks.

"Only the ones that matter," Artemis retorts, rolling her eyes as she unzips the bulging bag. "Come on, this is a thing that Earth teenagers do. Aren't you all about the immersive Earth experience?"

M'gann wrings her hands anxiously.

"But fireworks are extremely dangerous. I heard that this year alone – "

" – M'gann, seriously, what do you do with your life again?"

"I – it's..."

The Martian flushes a pinker shade of green and shuts her mouth, though she still looks hesitant.

"Relax, Miss M," says Robin, clapping her on the back and offering her a reassuring grin as he plops down beside Artemis. "This is one of those rules that everyone bends. Practically an American tradition."

"Besides, I pack more dangerous explosives than this in my quiver every day," Artemis points out.

M'gann looks to Conner as if to seek his advice. He's barely paying attention, stretched out on the grass with his hands pillowed beneath his head, but opens his eyes when she looks to him and gives a shrug that communicates that he doesn't really give a shit if people set off fireworks as long as they don't set them off while he's digesting dinner.

"Okay," M'gann relents at last. "Just be careful, please."

She looks down at her plate, then holds out her hand and telepathically summons the ketchup.

A few yards away, Roy nudges Kaldur with his elbow.

"You gonna do anything about your juvenile delinquents over there?" he asks, licking mustard off the side of his thumb. They're seated near the edge of the group on a large, quilted picnic blanket, a bag of chips and a bomber of IPA between them.

Kaldur glances up from what's left of his salmon burger.

"What are they doing, now?"

"Divvying up their Roman Candles," says Roy as he watches Artemis pass a few to Wally.

"I see," says Kaldur. He takes another bite and chews thoughtfully. "In that case, no."

"You're getting soft in your old age," Roy teases. "Better watch out or they'll start thinking you have a sense of humor."

"Impossible," says Kaldur. "Everyone knows how vehemently I am opposed to camaraderie."

"No fun on your watch," Roy agrees, reaching for the chips only to find Kaldur's hand is already there. He changes course quickly and pretends he was going for the beer all along, taking a swig before passing the bottle to Kaldur. "Guess you can't be a hardass about pyrotechnic regulations when you're drinking underage in front of your team."

"In Atlantis I could imbibe legally at fourteen," says Kaldur, rolling his eyes. "Your American laws are irrationally restrictive and serve only to cultivate an unhealthy aura of mystery around alcohol."

"Relax, you hippie," Roy laughs, setting aside his empty plate and patting Kaldur's knee. "You know I'm on your side on this one."

"When are you not?" Kaldur asks affectionately, and Roy's stomach flips just a little. On impulse, he leaves his hand on Kaldur's knee, scooting a half an inch closer to get comfortable and hoping he's being just obvious enough.

Kaldur opens his mouth as if to say something more, then shuts it, shaking his head and turning his attention back to his team. Everyone has finished eating with the exception of Wally, who looks to be starting his fifth hamburger and his second watermelon (whole fruit, not piece). Beside him, Artemis and Robin are debating the appropriate order in which to set off the fireworks while Raquel and Zatanna exchange stories of their most egregious lawbreaking escapades. M'gann has settled down next to Conner, his arm now pillowing her head. They're not speaking, but little fluctuations in their expressions tell Roy they're having a conversation nonetheless.

"You think Tula and Garth will join the gang soon?" Roy asks, more to make conversation than anything else.

"It is likely," says Kaldur. "His Littler Highness will be five months of age soon. With no move from the Purists since last September, King Orin may deem it safe for them to join us on the surface before long."

"Right. And...you're cool with that?"

Kaldur gives him an odd look as he takes another swig from the bomber.

"Hey, it's a fair question," Roy objects. "It can be hard to give orders to people you care about."

"Are you implying I do not care about my team?"

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean. People you're close to."

"I give _you_ orders."

"Yeah, but I don't follow them," Roy grins, nudging Kaldur's shoulder with his own. Kaldur shakes his head despairingly and opens his mouth to retort when a loud whistling noise sends both of their heads snapping toward the rest of the group – Artemis has just unleashed a single Saturn missile, which is currently shrieking its way off the side of the mountain, leaving Robin, Wally and Raquel whooping in its wake.

"That was awesome," Wally enthuses, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"Not bad," Robin agrees with a grin.

"That was a preview," Artemis informs the group, finding herself the center of attention. "I'm gonna set off the rest when it gets darker, after the official show."

"Speaking of which, we should tidy up a little before it gets hard to see," says Zatanna, looking around at their empty plates and general detritus. "If everyone's done, I can use a spell to gather up the trash, at least."

"Careful or it'll gather up Wally, too," Robin smirks. His friend rounds on him with an offended _hey!_ and as they devolve into play-wrestling, Roy turns his attention back to the bottle of beer pressed between his leg and Kaldur's.

"You wanna chug it?" he asks, holding it up to the fading light to estimate how much is left.

Kaldur shakes his head.

"Consider it yours, my friend."

Roy swishes the bottle – probably still about a third left.

"You trying to get me drunk?" he jokes.

"Are you trying to _get_ drunk?" Kaldur asks, arching an eyebrow. "If so, I sincerely doubt the rest of that bottle will suffice. And besides, I have never stopped you before."

"What? Liar – you totally have."

"No," Kaldur corrects. "I have stopped you from getting _more_ drunk."

"Yeah, yeah, no fun on your watch," Roy reminds him, squeezing Kaldur's knee teasingly before he removes his hand in order to down the rest of the beer. It takes a few swallows, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel Kaldur's eyes on him to the last drop.

Setting aside the bottle and wiping his mouth, Roy looks at Kaldur, only to find himself out of witty things to say and disoriented by the green in the Atlantean's eyes. Swallowing again (though this time it has nothing to do with the beer), he looks downslope instead, out over the harbor.

Kaldur follows his gaze, moving his hands from his lap to the ground and leaning back against them.

"No ocean sunsets on this coast," he remarks, his voice soft and thoughtful.

"Come back to Star with me after this," suggests Roy, only half joking. "The zeta and the time difference will get us there in plenty of time to watch one."

Kaldur smiles.

"I would like that."

Roy opens his mouth to say "it's a date" in as neutral a tone as he can manage, but he's cut off by a distant swell of sudden music – the beginning chords of the Star Spangled Banner. It seems the fireworks are about to begin. Leaning back onto the hillside, he tries not to get too excited at the thought of having Kaldur to himself later in the evening, when a slight pressure at his arm makes him look over at the Atlantean. Kaldur has reclined beside him, shoulder just brushing his own; their hands lie a scant millimeter from one another on the picnic blanket.

A six-mile run barely lifts Roy's heart rate, but he can feel it creeping up as two competing impulses rush through him: to grab Kaldur's hand and hold it tight, and to get the hell off this mountain before he does just that. He spends a panicked moment thinking about it. Then, like a coward or a nervous, lovesick child, he splits the difference and hooks his pinky finger over the top of Kaldur's, casting a tiny glance his way to see how he'll react.

Without rush or hesitation, Kaldur returns the glance, gives him a small, amused smile, and curls his pinky around Roy's as far as the webbing of his hands will allow.

Roy spends several long measures of the national anthem debating what the hell this means.

The band below is surging into a great ascending line – "o'er the land of the free," it plays, halting grandly on the highest note. Roy's heart is experiencing a more stuttering swell, exuberance and confusion and hope ticking through him while Kaldur shifts very slightly on the blanket. Then the music thunders into the final line, "home of the – " and by the time they hit "brave," by some miracle Kaldur's lips are pressed to his cheek in a soft but unmistakable kiss.

Roy's eyes widen and he holds perfectly still, his plan to Get Over It wholly abandoned. A split second later the touch is gone and the first firework goes off, scaring the absolute crap out of him; he barely stays sitting up.

For his part, Kaldur looks almost like he's about to laugh - he leans back and gives Roy's hand a gentle squeeze, then shifts his weight so he can lay his head back against Roy's shoulder.

Head spinning with elated confusion, Roy wraps his arm around Kaldur's own shoulders and sits up a little to make himself a more comfortable pillow. Out over the harbor, the fireworks now are shrieking and singing and booming in brilliant color, threatening to drown out the band's patriotic accompaniment.

"The fuck?" Roy says into Kaldur's ear, barely audible over all the noise. "I've been dropping hints for weeks."

Kaldur just shakes his head, and Roy can feel him laugh. He speaks up just loud enough to be heard over the din:

"Later, my friend."

Roy bites back a retort and decides not to push his luck - this moment is already more than he'd dreamed for. Leaning his head against his Kaldur's, he turns his eyes back toward the fireworks show. His brain keeps helpfully alerting him to fun new details, like the steady rise and fall of Kaldur's chest as he breathes, and the faint, coarse texture of his hair against Roy's cheek; Roy closes his eyes for a moment tries to memorize this collection of sensations - the crash of the pyrotechnics and the smell of the harbor and the warm weight of Kaldur's body leaned up against his own - and before he knows it, they've reached the finale. There's a long, fantastic moment of ecstatic noise and light and red and white and blue, and then there's just smoke, drifting through the deepening blue sky.

To Roy's disappointment, as soon as the smoke begins to clear, Kaldur slips out from under his arm and gets to his feet, casting a glance over at the others.

"Time for the _real_ show," Artemis is saying, grinning and looking over her arsenal. "'Tanna, would you like to do the honors?"

There's some squabbling as they figure out who will get to set off the first one, during which Kaldur turns to Roy and extends a hand.

"So," Roy says as he lets Kaldur pull him to his feet. "About that sunset…"

Kaldur smiles and shakes his head, not in decline but in affection.

"I suppose since I have made you wait this long, it would be rude to delay further," he says.

The first of the Team's fireworks goes off, a sparkler that hisses into the darkening night and is gone. Kaldur turns back to his teammates, lifting a hand to catch Robin's attention.

"I trust you will ensure the mountain is still standing come tomorrow?" he says.

Robin grins and nods.

"You got it, boss."

"Oh, are you leaving already?" M'gann asks, sounding disappointed.

"I will see you all tomorrow for training," says Kaldur as the team looks to him. "Eight thirty, as usual."

A collective groan goes up.

"But it's the day after a holiday – "

"We were here at seven on Wednesday – "

"I'm patrolling with Icon tonight – "

"All right," Kaldur relents, lifting a hand to silence their litany of objections. He shakes his head fondly. "Eleven, then. Get some sleep. I will see you in the morning."

As they cheer, he turns back to Roy, who is watching him with no small amount of suspicion, and they head down the mountainside, toward the nearest tunnel into the Cave.

"You were never planning to have them come in that early, were you?" he asks as the whoops and shrieks of the Team's shenanigans fade at their backs.

"Certainly not," says Kaldur with a sly smile. "Nor do I intend to get much sleep."

* * *

The sky over the Pacific is aflame with oranges and pinks as they sit at the edge of the little platform atop Murphy Windmill, fifty feet above the place where Roy first ambushed Kaldur for following him through the park over three years ago. The weather is cool and breezy, the area mostly deserted but for the occasional dog walker, and their feet dangle over the edge of the deck, legs threaded through the balustrade. To the west, the ocean stretches grandly to meet the blazing horizon.

Roy is fairly sure he could spend another hour or two like this, lazily kissing his best friend and letting night fall in warm purples and blues around them, but after a blissful eternity he pulls back and looks Kaldur in the eye.

"Why now?" he asks, slightly out of breath. He plants one more quick kiss on Kaldur's lips, an apology for the interruption. "Was I too subtle, before?"

Kaldur laughs, arching one eyebrow in that classic mix of fondness and exasperation.

"No," he says flatly, before his tone becomes gentler, more thoughtful. "I have been aware of your intentions for some time."

"Why keep me in suspense, then?" Roy asks.

"I am sorry," says Kaldur, brushing his fingertips along Roy's jaw and sending a shiver down his spine. "I did not mean to. I was merely concerned that…with everything you have faced recently, you were acting impulsively. I feared that there was a considerable chance you were either insincere in your advances, or unprepared to move forward should I return them."

"You thought I was _playing?"_ Roy summarizes incredulously.

"Yes," says Kaldur plainly, looking him in the eye. His tone is neither accusatory nor apologetic. "Not maliciously, of course. But you have always distracted yourself in the face of struggle, and I thought perhaps I was…convenient. I did not wish to be a mere distraction."

Roy shakes his head, swallowing hard.

"You're not," he says, kissing Kaldur again, deeply. He cups his face in his hands, leans his forehead against Kaldur's. "You're not a distraction, Kaldur. Not ever."

Kaldur just presses his mouth to Roy's in reply, hands running along the curves of his forearms and over his shoulders, and Roy takes the excuse to move closer and deepen the kiss. Kaldur tastes like the IPA they shared not two hours ago, and his skin is cool and smooth, like a sea-polished pebble.

Before long, night falls, and they talk a bit more, and climb down from the windmill, and walk through the park in the companionable silence they've practiced for so long. Kaldur's hand feels right in Roy's, like they've done this a thousand times and not just this once. Roy starts to believe this isn't just a dream.

By the time the sun rises next, neither of them will have rested much, despite spending most of the night in Roy's bed. But somehow, neither will mind.


End file.
